In An Instant
by LovelyHarmoney
Summary: When a girl with seventy feet of hair offers Flynn Rider a deal no bandit could ever refuse, he finds himself sneaking into the princesss's room daily. AU
1. The Plan

AU. When Flynn Rider jumps through a palace window, he expects to find valuable items worth robbing, not a girl with seventy feet of hair. But when Rapunzel strikes up a deal with Flynn, he realizes that he may have just stumbled upon an opportunity that's too good to refuse. Soon Flynn finds himself sneaking into the princess's bedroom on a daily basis.

It was a plot bunny, what can I say? Based heavily off of the "darker" Rapunzel concept art from 2008.

My first fanfiction. I hope you enjoy.

*~o~*~o~*

Chapter 1

_*~Sunday~*_

The thing about Flynn Rider is that he's familiar with nerves. That giddy feeling that seems to turn around his stomach, moisten his brow with sweat, make his hands tremble. The anticipation is almost unbearable. But the result is always exquisite. The victory, the pride, the bragging rights...

The _fourtune_.

It's with dollar signs in his eyes that Flynn looks out over the view of Corona. The sun is just beginning to rise, bathing the horizon in buttery golds and casting beams of light over the tips of trees in the woodlands. The village was always a sight to behold, but nothing compared to the view from the rooftops of the palace.

"Enough sightseeing," a voice grumbles behind him. "We're on a job here, Rider."

Right. The money. He needs the money. He turns back to his view, this time with the utmost professionalism as he examines the lay out of the castle and prepares his next move. The jump from the ledge to the next balcony is only six feet or so; he can make it if he positions his heel _just so_.

For a quick moment the wind is rushing through his hair, and then his boots are landing silently against the next roof. He turns around and smirks at his partners, pleased with his acrobatics. "Not bad, huh?" He stretches out a hand and pretends to measure the distance he'd just jumped with a thumb and pointer finger.

The brother with the eyepatch―the one Flynn likes better because he hardly ever talks―rolls his one revealed eye. The other ignores Flynn completely, taking two steps back in preparation to jump.

Two loud thumps shake the roof as the Stabbingtons forcefully land beside Flynn. Then they turn to him, ready for further instruction. "Well?" one asks.

Flynn waves a hand toward the palace tower, only a few yards away now. "That's it. The window's always open. And as far as I can tell, no one ever goes in there."

"Sounds kinda fishy," Stabbington says, narrowing his eyes. "You're not thinking of setting us up, are you, Rider?" One of his hands curl into a meaty fist.

Flynn raises both of his hands in surrender. "Oh come on, guys, after all we've been through together, are you saying _you don't trust me_?"

The two glares he receives are answer enough.

Flynn quickly changes topics. "This is gonna be a piece of cake. You know what to do. Just make a diversion; get the guards to follow you into the woods."

"And how do we know you're gonna follow through and split the booty?"

"Because I'm a man of my word?" Flynn grins debonairly.

The brothers stand tall, reminding him of their physical advantage. One of the Stabbingtons alone is twice his size, and he best not annoy them. "How about," one brother says, "if you don't follow through, we're going to track you down and make sure we get our money's worth in your skin and bones?"

Flynn tries to shake the threat off as no big deal. After all, it isn't a normal day in the life of Flynn Rider unless someone is threatening to skin him alive. "Agreed. Now get going. You remember the signal?"

But the Stabbingtons are already sliding down the end of the roof. They hop onto the top of a high stone wall, then climb down, disappearing from Flynn's sight.

He waits until he can hear the familiar sounds of hooves stomping in the dirt. The guards have caught sight of the brothers quickly enough, and a chase is sure to follow. Which means the palace will be without most of it's security for at least an hour.

Flynn creeps across the roof until he can see the window, open as usual. It's a little high, which means he'll have to hoist himself up and throw himself over the sill. He grabs onto the trim and pulls himself up, preparing to make a leap for it.

He pushes off of his feet and throws he body through the opening, perhaps with a bit too much force because he crashes onto the floor of the room in a heap. "Shit!"

He brushes himself off and gets onto his feet. He'll have to be quick about this; the guards will only leave the palace undefended for so long.

He takes a step forward when suddenly he sees something gleaming silver in the corner of his eye. He barely has time to duck before a jewelry box is smashing against the wall behind his head. "What the hell?" he gasps, covering his head with his hands and looking around wildly.

The room is bigger than he expected. He raises his eyebrows in confusion. It's like a little home, with a table to eat at and bed in the opposite corner of the room. But what really takes him by surprise is the paintings. All over the walls there are paintings in various pastel colors. Paintings of animals and flowers and all sorts of things. He follows the art up to the top of the wall. The ceiling has been graffitied too. There are stars, suns, moons, clouds... an entire solar system above his head.

Without warning, a plate soars through the air and crashes against the floor in front of his feet.

Flynn jumps back, his eyes scanning the room hurriedly. "Hello?" Obviously, he's not alone. It must be a maid or something, some girl who's scared out of her wits. He can handle that. He's charmed his way out of similar situations before.

But he's not prepared for the sudden thump against his skull. Perhaps it's the concussion, but as Flynn finds himself crumbled against the floor for the second time, he realizes that something life changing is about to happen, and his whole world is about to be turned upside down...

But he doubts he'll remember thinking any of this when he wakes up.

*~o~*~o~*

We are in for quite a wild ride.

Hmm... what kind of deal will Rapunzel make? Let me know what you think.

Concept art that inspired this chapter on my profile if you care to see.

Thank you for reading!


	2. The Intruder

The chapters are shorter for now, but they'll probably get longer as they go.

I don't own Tangled, of course.

*~o~*~o~*

Chapter 2

*~_Sunday_~*

It's the first time Rapunzel's ever seen someone from _outside_ when a sweaty man flies over her window sill and hits the floor with a thud.

She ducks under her desk, pressing herself against the wall and bringing her knees to her chest. Who is he? Why is he here? _How_ did he get here?

His boots are covered in muck and leaving tracks on her rosewood floor. He struggles to stand up, rubbing his side as he peers around the room.

He must be after her hair. She's heard about his kind—ruffians, thugs. She lifts a hand out from her hiding spot and feels around the top of the desk. Her fingers close around something big and cold and solid. Perfect. She flings it in his direction.

Her jewelery box smashes against the wall just where his head would have been if he hadn't ducked. She grimaces; he's fast. He holds his hands over his head and looks at her makeshift weapon with wide eyes. "What the hell?"

Then his eyes dart around the room, looking for her. Her heart is pounding in her chest as she pins herself flat against the wall, but his eyes pass right over her hiding spot. Then his brow furrows, his eyes alight on some of the portraits on her wall. No one has ever paid her artwork any attention before. She holds her breath and watches his face intently as he follows her paintings up to the ceiling. Then his lips part and he exhales in shock.

Does he like it? Her unspoken question startles her. She doesn't care _what_ he thinks. He's a hideous, soulless, brainless monster...

Except he's really not that hideous. She hasn't seen many men in her life, but there's something pleasing to the eyes about his features. If she had her sketchbook, she'd want to study the contours of his cheekbones and the planes of his shoulders. And he can't be all that brainless. It would have taken some intelligence to get into her tower in one piece. Guards were circling her room constantly.

What is she _thinking_? He's dangerous. He's up to no good. She grabs at the next thing she can find on hr desk—a paint brush? No, that won't do any damage. Then she feels the edge of the plate she was using as a palette to mix colors. That will have to do. She throws it across the room and watches as it lands in front of his feet and splits into a thousand pieces.

Where are the guards? Haven't they heard the commotion by now? Most of the time she feels as if she can't have a second to herself—but now a real emergency is happening, and they choose this moment to give her space?

"Hello?" says the intruder. He voice is softer, smoother. It makes Rapunzel pause for a moment and shiver.

Still no guards. Her palms feel sweaty as she reaches for something else to throw. Her finger grazes over the edge of a bottle of paint. That will have to do. She closes her eyes and throws, praying she'll hit her target.

There's a groan of pain. She peaks through one of her lids and gasps. He's holding a hand to his head, sinking onto his knees and then falling onto his side. Rapunzel holds her breath and waits for him to get up, but he doesn't.

First she feels a wave of pride. She, Rapunzel, has taken down this thug all on her own! But then she looks at his motionless form, lying in a heap on her floor, and frowns... She's hurt him. Guilt quickly gives way to confusion. Why is she so caught up on this?

His brown hair is covering his eyes and cheeks; it's rather long and untidy. All that's exposed are his lips, pursed in a little 'o', and his sharp jawline.

She glances at the door again. No guards have stormed into her room unannounced. Something is wrong, and she can't figure out what.

"Ugh." The intruder moans in his sleep.

Guilt washes over her again. She's hurt him, and now he's lying with his cheek pressed again the floor. Carefully, she moves away from her spot under the desk, grabbing her paint brush as she goes, and inches her way closer.

Rapunzel bends over the thug's limp body and extends the paintbrush in her hand. Then she flicks the dark hair away from his face with the end of the handle. His eyes are closed, long lashes casting shadows over his cheekbones.

He's... aesthetically pleasing. She can't think of any other word to call him, so she sticks to art terms. She could call him pretty or beautiful, but that doesn't seem right at all. No, his appeal is more rugged and strong. But there's softness too. She finds it difficult to put into words. If she only had her sketchbook!

She reaches out and wraps her fingers around one of his arms. It's much more muscular and toned than her own. The intruder exhales heavily but otherwise shows no sign of waking. Then she pulls and pulls until he begins to slide across the floor.

It's a slow and tiring process, but eventually she manages to lift him onto her bed. She's breathing heavily from the effort as she sets his arms down at his sides and tries to make him look comfortable. He moans again quietly.

The poor thing. She hadn't really thought about the consequences of knocking him unconscious. What if she's killed him? What if he never wakes up? Then she freezes. What if Mother comes in and finds him here? She'll be furious.

She goes to the basin of water in her kitchen and wets a cloth. Then she returns to her bed, sitting down on the edge of it carefully. The intruder is still out cold. She wipes the cloth back and forth across his forehead.

"Mmm..."

She pulls her hand away. Is he waking up? His lashes flutter for a moment, and then he settles back into sleep.

She moves the cloth over his nose and then his cheeks. He's not ugly like Mother described, but he is certainly dirty. And smelly; he smells like sweat.

Then she notices something around his shoulder. It's a leather bag. Dropping the cloth on the floor, she reaches for it and unhinges the little clasp. Reaching her hand in, she feels something smooth and cold. She pulls it out... It's white and almost curly in shape with ridges, and slightly heavy in her grip... What is this thing?

There are three more similar looking objects, all in slightly different colors. She puts them back in his bag and feels around for something else. Eventually, her inventory includes five gold coins, a crumbled handkerchief with a piece of bread inside, and a few jagged, grey rocks.

Suddenly five fingers close around her wrist. "Eeep!" She jumps up and tries to back away, but he has her arm in a death grip.

She looks up and meets two amber eyes.

"You!" His eyes are wild, and for a moment she imagines that he really is as dangerous as Mother said.

She opens her mouth to respond to his outburst, but her throat is dry from fear. Her face drains of color, but she can't look away from him. He's squeezing her wrist so tightly.

His eyes dart around the room frantically. "Where am I?"

Finally, she finds her voice. "Let me go." She says it with a firmness she didn't think she possessed.

The thug looks down at her wrist and quickly releases it. There. He's not an animal; he can be reasoned with.

But just when she thinks she has some control over the situation, the man tries to stand. He hops onto his feet lithely, then holds a palm to his head and bends over like he's in pain.

Rapunzel stands up straight. She shouldn't be afraid; she has the advantage here. She takes two deep breaths and remembers what Mother always said about addressing company—not that she's ever had any company. Be cordial, be regal...

"Would you like some tea?"

The intruder blinks and runs a hand through his hair. "I think I hit my head harder than I thought."

*~o~*~o~*

Next chapter is finished. So until tomorrow morning!

Thank you for reading! Leave a comment and let me know what you think!


	3. The Deal

Thank you to everyone who responded last chapter. Glad I've caught your interest!

*~o~*~o~*

Chapter 3

*~_Sunday_~*

Rapunzel watches the thug from across her little table. She's let him take the comfy armed chair, while she's sits atop a low stool. It makes her feel small.

He stares at his tea cup strangely, like he's afraid it might be poisoned. Then he looks up, his amber eyes wide, and asks, "Am I dead?"

Rapunzel tilts her head to the side. "I don't think so."

"But... uh..." He points a finger just behind her.

She turns, confused. There's nothing there.

"The hair..." he elaborates.

Oh! She takes a strand of blond hair and runs it through her fingers. Of course the thug is worried about her hair. "Isn't that why you're here?" She narrows her eyes and tries to look menacing, but she has a feeling it's not working.

"Why I'm here?" he asks in in disbelief.

She raises her eyebrows. "To take my hair?"

"Take your hair?"

Why does he keep repeating everything? And why is he looking at her like she's speaking gibberish? Maybe he _is _as brainless as Mother said. "Aren't you here for my hair?" she says slowly.

"Why on _earth_ would I want your hair?"

This takes her by surprise. "You _don't_ want my hair?"

"No!" He pushes himself out of his seat forcefully, only to stumble. He braces himself against the table, a hand pressing against his head again.

"Then what are you here for?" she asks, standing up as well. "If it's not my hair."

"Look, Blondie," he starts, grimacing at her, "I don't know what's going on here. I'm just your average bandit, all right? Flynn Rider," he waves a hand toward himself, "Maybe you've heard of me. I don't have any hair fetishes or anything. I came looking for valuables—" She looks at him confusedly. "You know, gold, rubies..." He shakes his head, unsure why he's explaining this to her. "And now I'm dead and trapped in some sort of thief's purgatory and—"

She hardly listens to the rest of his ranting. "I have plenty of those things!" she exclaims. "If that's all you wanted..."

He groans and presses his palm against his head again. "I think I have a concussion."

She blushes guiltily. That must be why he's acting so strangely. "I didn't mean to hit you so hard."

"That was you?"

She doesn't answer; she's just been struck by inspiration—an idea! He wants valuables, and she has plenty of them. Gifts from Mother, lying around her room unused. But he has something she wants as well. He has knowledge. He has access to the outside world. He has experience and aliveness.

He has mud on his boots. She's seen it before on the shoes of the guards that pass by her room. She knows it comes from outside, but she's never felt it. She's dreamt of mud—and he barely notices it! He's used to it, he's known it all his life. And she envies him.

"Flynn Rider," she announces, feeling sudden confidence. He scowls at the sudden change in attitude suspiciously. "I'd like to offer you a deal."

"Deal?" He rubs a hand over his head again, squinting in pain.

"You know about the outside world, don't you?"

He almost smirks. "You could say that."

She clasped her hands together and beams. "Tell me about what it's like... and I'll give you," she tries to remember the phrase he used, "valuables."

"What?"

He's looking at her like she has three heads, and it makes her feel silly. "I can't leave here, so... I want you to tell me about what's over that wall." She motions with her arm to the window. Then she nods with pride and finality, "That is my deal."

He presses his lips together, deep in thought. Then he tilts his head towards the ceiling, examining the paper stars and moons she hung by strings from the beams.

"Are you sure I'm not dead?" he asks.

She repeats her answer pleasantly. "I don't think so."

"Huh." He rubs his hand against his head once more, and another wave of guilt washes over her for hitting him so hard. "All right..." He walks back to the table and sits in her chair. "And what exactly do you want to know, Blondie?"

"Rapunzel," she interrupts.

He shrugs dismissively.

Rapunzel rushes across the room to her bed. The leather bag he brought with him is still sitting there. She hurriedly opens it and reaches inside. "Tell me what these are." She holds out her hands, now cradling one of the strange white objects with curvy ridges she'd found when he was passed out.

"The shell?"

She looks back at the object and runs a finger over the edge of it. "A shell... what is it used for?"

"Nothing..."

But he has three of them in his bag. That doesn't make sense.

"I don't know, I thought they were nice," he admits begrudgingly, almost as if he's embarrassed by this. She doesn't know why. She'd covet them too, if she'd seen them. They're so lovely and textured.

She clears her throat. "Where exactly did you get them?"

He smirks again. "That, Blondie, is a very long story..."

But he doesn't have a chance to continue. Rapunzel turns her head as something clatters outside. It's far away, perhaps down the hall. But she knows what it means; the guards are back.

"You should go now," she hurries, boldly taking his wrist and pulling him closer to the window.

He looks baffled. "I can leave?"

What a silly question. "Unless you _want _the guards to arrest you."

He leans over the window sill, ready to jump. "No, I'm good."

She bites her lip. He's leaving, and he won't come back. This afternoon of excitement will one day be a faint memory, and she'll be left to rot here for the rest of her life...

Then she remembers. She's promised him something valuable. She looks towards her jewelry box; there are a few things in there she never wears.

She rushes to the window. Flynn Rider is easing himself off the ledge, one foot already out of her sight. "Wait!" She runs over and grabs his hand, forcing the jewelry into his palm.

He takes a quick look at what she's given him and gasps. "You do realize that's a diamond, right?"

She shrugs. "I have more. Come back tomorrow."

He coughs. "What? Are you crazy?"

"No," she says honestly, "I mean it."

He narrows his eyes. "How do I know you're not setting me up?"

She ponders that for a moment. He thinks she's lying to him.

There are footsteps down the hall. She's become familiar with the sounds of the guards moving back and forth, their patterns and routines as they pace past her door. Flynn will have to leave quickly.

She gives him what she hopes is a trusting smile. "I guess you don't know," she says. "You'll have to decide if it's worth the risk."

Flynn stares at her strangely, his eyes searching her face for something. Then he nods slowly.

"Be careful," she warns him.

He gazes at her one last time before dropping out the window, disappearing from her sight.

The knob of her door twists squeakily, and she turns on her heel as a guard dressed in armor bursts into her room unannounced.

She stands in her place and waves innocently, casting him a pleasant smile.

"Princess," he greets, searching the room with his eyes quickly. He stop on the open window and her heart skips a beat. "It'll be cold tonight. Best be closing that."

She nods quickly. "Oh, I will."

The guard glances probingly around the room one last time before abruptly shutting the door without so much as a goodbye. She stands still and holds her breath as she listens to the sound of the lock being turned again.

Cold air blows against her cheeks from the open window. It startles her out of her trance as she rushes over to the glass and pokes her head outside, searching around the roofs and the tops of the high stone wall.

Flynn Rider is gone.

*~o~*~o~*

Hmmm... Will Flynn accept the offer? What a tough choice, huh? Sneak into the pretty girls room, tell her a few stories, leave with a diamond?

Any theories about why Rapunzel's trapped in the castle? Remember, this is AU.

Concept art that inspired this chapter on my profile.

Please leave a review! Thank's for reading!


	4. The Risk

Thank you so much for the reviews guys! And whoever recommended me on HYT, thank you! So sweet!

Glad you like it!

*~o~*~o~*

Chapter 4

*~_Sunday_~*

The bar is dark and crowded, just the way Flynn likes it. He sits at the counter with a glass of murky water and vacantly rubs at the bump on his head. Whatever hit him, it was enough to give him a massive migraine.

A shadow falls over him as the burly barkeeper leans over the bar. He's muscly, sweaty, and wearing a frilly purple apron. With a suspicious glare, he asks, "What's your poison?"

He considers ordering the most alcoholic item in the pub, but that may not agree so well with the concussion. "What's the best thing for a headache?" Flynn mumbles.

The barkeeper rolls his eyes. "I'll get you some tea."

Ugh, tea. It reminds him of that girl. That odd girl with miles of blonde hair. Had that been real, or had the concussion made him see things?

For the hundredth time since he climbed out the palace window, he pats his palm against his pocket. He can still feel the outline of the diamond ring she'd forced into his hands. Given him! Like it was nothing!

And she said she had more, just lying around in there. She'd said he could come back tomorrow and she'd give him more.

It had to be a trick. Some sort of elaborate, crazy scheme the palace guards had concocted to finally get him behind bars. Long haired blondes didn't just hang out in castle towers handing out jewelry.

"It's Chamomile."

The barkeeper startles him out of his thoughts. "Thanks." The teacup looks like it's seen better days, but the liquid is hot and sweet smelling. He reaches for it and takes a slow sip.

"It's supposed to help you relax," adds the barkeeper. He looks pointedly at Flynn's right hand, which he is tapping repeatedly against the counter.

"Great," he deadpans, passing over a coin to the man. He saunters off, but not without casting Flynn one last untrusting glare.

"Hey!" someone shouts from across the counter. "Look who's having a tea party!"

Flynn cringes. This is just what he needs—a bunch of drunken idiots harassing him about his choice of beverage.

"Look, he's got it in a fancy little cup and everything!" the drunkard jokes, pulling out the stool next to Flynn and sitting down. Two others come up behind him to join the fun.

"Are you gonna add sugar?" one asks, slurring his words together.

Flynn rolls his eyes. "Hardyhar har."

"Hey, Vladimir! Get this pansy some vodka!" shouts the goon on the stool. Vladimir, the barkeeper in the apron, grunts and reaches for an empty glass to fill.

"No thanks," Flynn grumbles. "I'm not up for it today."

"Too strong for you?" laughs the drunkard, slapping him on the back. "Man up, you sissy!"

This would normally be about the time Flynn puffs out his chest and chugs down a drink in one gulp to save whatever dignity he has left. But this morning's events have left him feeling very unlike himself. He shrugs off the grubby hand from his shoulder and shakes his head. But that just gets him dizzy. He runs a hand through his hair.

"Whoa, that's some lump you've got!" the goon exclaims. "You hit your head on something?"

"More like something hit _me_," he groans under his breath.

"Oh yeah?" The group of intoxicated men seem mildly interested. The man on the stool props his head up on his elbow. "A lump like that has to have a good story."

Flynn's not sure if it's a good story, but it's certainly a strange one. But these guys are so inebriated they probably won't remember tomorrow. And a small part of him wants to say what happened out loud, so he feels like less of a psychopath.

"Well..." he starts slowly. "I was on a job."

"Uh huh." The men all nod in understanding.

"And this job involved climbing through a window."

One of the drunkards laughs as if he's said something funny.

Rolling his eyes, he ignores the interruption. "And just as I get inside, something flies through the air and hits me on the head."

"It just flew out of nowhere?" one of the goons asks, looking very confused.

"Well when I came to, this girl was hovering over me—"

The group of drunkards burst into hysterical laughter. "A girl?" one wheezes. "_A girl_ knocked you out cold?"

But the man on the stool looks fascinated with his story. "Well, what happened? Did she get the guards?"

"Nope." Flynn leans on the counter with his elbows. "She asked if I wanted any tea."

The goons all drop their jaws. "You're lying!"

"And then she started asking me all these weird, nonsensical questions." He glosses over the part about the hair. That may make the story go from hard to believe to completely inconceivable.

"Maybe she's not right in the head," one drunkard offers.

Maybe she wasn't. But Flynn remembers her speaking so clearly, so sanely. It was just _what _she was saying. But he's not a doctor. He wouldn't know.

"Keep going," one of the men demands.

Flynn smirks, knowing what their reactions will be to this next tidbit. "She told me to come back tomorrow."

"WHAT?"

The barkeeper Vladimir has wandered over now, wanting in on this outlandish tale. "No way, kid. You're playing us."

"I'm not," he insists. It's not so much about convincing them; it's more about convincing himself. "But I didn't even tell you the most unbelievable part."

"What?" one of the goons ask, his eyes widening.

"She gave me a ring. A _diamond _ring. She just handed it to me."

Vladimir shakes his head. "All right, kid, now we know you're full of shit."

But Flynn had been expecting that. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the bauble.

The thugs all start talkig at once, shouting and hooting. Vladimir narrows his eyes at the jewelry, but seems unconvinced.

"Let me see that!" one of the goons shouts, reaching over to grab it, but Flynn quickly pulls the ring away and stuffs it discretely into his pocket.

"You gotta go back tomorrow!" the drunkard on the stool yells, waving his hands over his head.

But they don't know that this window is behind palace walls. Even though Flynn could confidently boast that he could sneak into the palace whenever he wanted and avoid capture, the risk was still there. And he wouldn't always have the convenience of the guards chasing after the Stabbingtons.

That reminds him—the Stabbingtons. He'll have to meet with them tomorrow to split the cost of his steals. But the problem is, he doesn't have any steals. He has the ring, but that will hardly amount to anything once it's split three ways. Flynn was planning on robbing the castle once and finding the big bucks. Now he's going to show up empty handed. He remembers the Sabbingtons' blatant threat to skin his alive and shivers.

"Was she pretty?" One of the goons looks extremely interested in his answer to this, like the fate of the story depends on it.

Flynn raises an eyebrow. "I wasn't paying much attention. I was kind of busy being concussed."

"Come on," he insists. "What did she look like? How old was she?"

He tries to recall a mental image of her. "Maybe... I don't now, eighteen? Give or take a few years," he estimates.

The two men behind him crack up laughing. "Well that changes things! A lady, huh?" cackles one. "Well go on, tell us. Was she pretty? Or is she one of those broads with the mustaches?"

Flynn tries to imagine her properly. Nope, definitely no mustache. Just lots of hair. Miles and miles of hair. "She was blond..." The men all "ooh" and "ahh" appreciatively.

"Come on, kid, give us something to work with here!" Vladamir commands, slamming a cup of beer onto the counter. The goon on the stool picks it up and starts slurping it down loudly.

He sighs. She wasn't _bad_. She had pretty good skin... and nice lips. Very nice. Huh.

"Yeah," he mutters. "She was pretty attractive, I guess."

"Damn, kid," one of the drunkards exclaims. "You've got the dream here, offered to you on a silver platter! You've got it made!"

"But you said she wasn't right in the head," Flynn reminds him.

"Who cares!"

Another man slaps him on the back. "A rich broad handing out rocks and giving you free tea? Damn, kid!"

Flynn interrupts. "I thought you didn't _like_ tea."

"Besides the point," he dismisses. "If you pass this up, I'll kill you. You've got the opportunity of a lifetime here."

Flynn grabs his teacup and takes a long gulp, ignoring the laughing and chattering of the drunkards. He tries to recall the girl's words as he snuck back out the window. What did she say to him again?

_You'll have to decide if it's worth the risk._

*~o~*~o~*

Well, I think Flynn might have made his decision.

Next update in a day or two. Quickly :)

Inspirational concept art on my profile

As ever, thank you a million times for reading. Leave a review!


	5. The Wait

Thank you so much for the reviews, guys! So sweet!

Hope you like this next chapter.

*~o~*~o~*

Chapter 5

*~_Sunday_~*

Rapunzel spends nearly an hour cleaning up the mucky boot tracks from her floor, erasing any evidence of the thief's presence. Then she cleans out her teapot and cups. She dusts off the chair he sat on, worried that he'd left some sort of impression in it—he hadn't, but her eyes kept darting across the room to stare at it anyway. Then she strips the sheets off her bed and puts them back again neatly, smoothing away any wrinkles his weight may have made.

Now the room looks quite the same as it normally does, a fact that makes her feel relieved and disappointed all at once. Any proof of the thief's existence has vanished. It makes her feel as if she'd imagined the entire thing.

She sits on the windowsill and stares out at the high stone wall. She's being foolish—does she really expect that at any moment the brown haired thief will climb over the wall again and clamber into her tower? He'll probably never come back...

She almost wishes he'd never came at all. Now she's jittery and anxious and her heart is flying a mile a minute. Mother will notice, of course, and then she'll find out... somehow she'll find out about her visiter and she'll be furious.

Three knocks suddenly land on her door. "Rapunzel, dear, I'm coming in."

Rapunzel's eyes widen. Was she so lost in thought that she missed the sounds of her mother's heels as she paced down the hall?

The door opens slowly, revealing Mother's form in a deep red gown. Her eyes widen immediately and her lips turn down disapprovingly. "What are you doing? Get down from that window! Don't you know the wind will pull you out and make you fall?"

Rapunzel quickly hops down from the window ledge and shuts the glass panes. "Sorry." She bites her lip and lowers her eyes.

"Oh, Rapunzel," Mother sighs, holding a hand to her temple. "You know I love you. It's been a long day, darling."

Rapunzel nods dutifully. She'll have to act natural... but she's never had to lie to Mother about anything before. She clasps her hands together to keep them from shaking and forces a tiny smile on her lips.

"Won't you sing for me, flower?"

She watches as Mother sits down in the same place Flynn Rider had been just this morning. While Flynn had slung himself over the seat languidly with his arms stretched out, Mother is prim and proper and doesn't touch the back of the chair at all. "Don't dawdle, darling. Mummy's very exhausted," she demands.

She grabs her hair brush from beside her bed and pulls up her stool to sit down. Mother takes some of her golden hair in her pasty, fragile hands and begins to brush. Rapunzel's part as she begins to whisper her song.

_Flower, gleam and glow_

_Let your power shine_

_Make the clock reverse_

_Bring back what once was mine_

_Heal what has been hurt_

_Change the fates' design_

_Save what has been lost_

_Bring back what once was mine_

_What once was mine_

Rapunzel opens her eyes in time to see her glowing hair fade back to blond. She glances at Mother, who looks suddenly more youthful and vigorous. Her skin is smoother and her eyes are brighter. The streaks of grey in her curly black hair have vanished.

"Rapunzel, dear, you look worried. Is something the matter?"

Rapunzel lowers her head, her blonde hair spilling over her face and hiding her eyes. "It's nothing."

She hears the familiar sound of her mother's heels clicking against the floor and the swish of her deep red skirt. Then pasty white hands are smoothing her locks away from her face. "Something is bothering you."

Rapunzel looks up, her green eyes cautious, and catches sight of her mother's steady gaze looking down at her. She can't lie to her, the woman who's done nothing but care for her and protect her. Mother holds open her arms invitingly. Rapunzel wraps her arms around her waist eagerly and presses her cheek against her bosom. "Mother…" she starts, her voice shaking.

"Darling, you can tell me anything. You'll feel much better once you talk about it."

Yes... She can tell mother all about the thief and all of this guilt and worry will vanish. It's so tempting she can feel the words on her tongue... Everything will be the way it was before...

But Mother won't understand. She won't let Flynn come back. And she wants to see him again desperately.

Mother is still gazing down at her, expecting a response, so Rapunzel chooses a half-truth. "I've just been feeling very confused..."

"Confused?" Mother lets out a carefree laugh, patting the top of her head. "Don't be silly. There's nothing to be confused about."

Rapunzel lets go and straightens herself back up. "I know. It's just…" She pauses, glancing hesitantly at her mother's eyes. She looks back impassively, a dark eyebrow raised. "I'm going to be eighteen soon. Don't you think I'm old enough to leave my room?"

Mother twists her lips, unamused by the question.

She rushes to elaborate, beginning to stumble nervously over her words. "I'm strong enough to protect myself, aren't I? I can handle whatever is out there."

Now that Rapunzel has met a thug like Flynn Rider, she feels more certain than ever that she can handle whatever the outside world holds. He wasn't anything like Mother had said he would be... Maybe Mother was wrong about other things too.

Mother exhales loudly. "Oh, my dear." With one of her fragile hands, she touches Rapunzel's head, stroking her blond hair from the roots to the middle of her back, over and over. "Oh, Rapunzel," she sighs. "You _know_ why you stay in the tower. To keep you safe, darling."

"I know, but—"

"Shush." Mother's hands disappear. "Really, Rapunzel, enough already. Now be a good girl and go to bed."

Mother's heels click against the wooden floor as she makes her leave. Rapunzel only dares to lift her head as the door slams shut. The lock turns loudly, as if to remind her that, like it or not, she won't be leaving any time soon.

*~o~*~o~*

*~_Monday_~*

She doesn't know how long she's been sitting by her window. Her cheeks are cold from the breeze and shivers are running down her spine. She's thought about moving many times, but she can't bring herself to do it. No one's entered her room since yesterday, and Rapunzel is beginning to wonder if Mother has ordered the guards not to disturb her. She hasn't heard any footsteps since the sun set hours ago. And now the sky is beginning to brighten again; she has been left on her own for hours.

She tilts her head toward the ceiling. Above her head float dozens of paper stars and moons, twirling slightly in the breeze from the open window. She'd hung them across the beams to mirror the patterns of the constellations.

She turns back to the window and frowns. The sun is beginning to peak out from behind the stone wall; she's missed the sunrise. Birds are beginning to sing, though she can't see them. They're probably flittering from tree to tree, playing with their friends, singing happily to each other.

She closes her eyes and lifts her arms. A gust of wind blows across her face and rustles her hair. Oh, how she wishes that she could lift her feet off the ground and fly away... far away...

Then she hears a grunt. It's soft and distant, so quiet that she's sure she's imagined it. Her eyes burst open and she backs away from the window ledge. Why is her heart pounding in her chest? It's only her imagination, some false hope that will never come true...

But then she hears it again, along with the rhythmic patter of boots on a roof. Her breath catches in her throat and she squeezes her eyelids together again. She's imagining it. He's not coming back...

Something thumps against the window. She opens her eyes once more and... like a miracle, or some dream come true, he's there.

"Flynn!"

Flynn Rider hops down from the window ledge, looking warily at her. He stands up straight and hunches his shoulders as if preparing himself for something. "Hey."

Rapunzel stares in shock; she can't feel her legs and her throat is suddenly dry. He's here, he's really here! She never thought it possible, but he's come back again! And now that he's actually standing before her, she has no idea what to do.

Flynn presses his lips together awkwardly and searches for something to say. "You said I should come back..." he reminds her, looking uncertain.

"Yes!" Suddenly she finds her voice. "I just didn't think you really would."

His mouth turns up at the corners. "Well you drive a hard bargain, Blondie." Then his expression becomes more earnest. "But you said I needed to decide if it was worth the risk... and I think it is."

A smile spreads across her face. Something inside her chest feels warm and tingly, an exciting feeling she's never experienced before. "I'm glad."

*~o~*~o~*

I hope you liked it. This one was a lot harder to write.

Thank you again for all of the lovely reviews. And to the people who recc'ed me at HYT, you are awesome!

I am very excited about the next update, so it will be up very soon. What shall Rapunzel and Flynn do?

And how do you feel about Rapunzel's character? She's not completely isolated like she was in the movie, so her personality is less naive and a little more serious, but that bubbly, adorable girl we all know and love is in there, waiting for Flynn to spark her curiosity.

Concept art that inspired this chapter on my profile.

Thanks for reading. Leave a comment :)


	6. The Catch

Thank you soooooo much to everyone who reads and reviews. You guys are the sweetest ever, and so encouraging.

I'm sorry this took so long. Real life happens. But to make up for it, this chapter is longer than usual. And I think you all are going to be surprised and pleased by what happens next...

As ever, let me know what you think.

*~o~*~o~*

Chapter 6

*~_Monday_~*

Flynn is in over his head. He knows he is, and he has no one but himself to blame.

He's in the palace again, and by some small miracle he's managed not to get caught. Well, perhaps that wasn't a miracle—he'd been haunting the palace's exterior for nearly a month in preparation for this latest scheme—but he certainly is relying on a very generous amount of luck.

And the blond girl is still here. She's dressed in green this morning and for some reason he notices that it's a shade darker than her eyes. She's smiling at him with an awed expression, like he's some sort of godsend. No one's ever looked at him like that before... It's making his palms sweaty.

"So," he says, smiling cavalierly, "I got you something."

She tilts her head to the side slightly, her nose scrunching in confusion. Some of her blond hair spills over her shoulder. "You did?"

He grabs at his satchel and pulls it over his shoulder. He won't admit that he trekked around the woods all night looking for these things, but he figures he owes her at least this after she so willingly parted with her fancy ring.

"Here," he says, offering her three pinkish colored shells in his outstretched hands.

"Oh!" She blinks in shock. Then her lips twitch, and suddenly she is beaming. She looks so pleased that she could cry.

"Uh," Flynn mutters, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. If she bursts into tears, he won't be able to comfort her... Flynn Rider isn't good with empathy. "You want them?"

She rushes forward and lifts her hands, but instead of grabbing the shells immediately her fingers pause and hover over them. She frowns, afraid to take them.

"I don't bite, you know."

She takes a sudden step backwards. "You don't?"

Flynn raises an eyebrow. He can't figure this girl out, and he doesn't even want to try. She obviously has some deep routed issues, and who is he to psychoanalyze her? He probably has some issues of his own... kleptomania being one of the dozens on the list.

"Here," he tries again, this time dumping the shells into her hands so she has no choice but to take them. She cradles them to her chest like they're rubies.

"Thank you," she says, looking down at the shells excitedly.

He shrugs. "No problem."

"No, really, thank you," she insists, looking up to meet his eyes.

He really has gotten himself in too deep. She's smiling at him so innocently... and suddenly all he can think about is that dumb goon at the bar asking, _is she pretty?_

He looks at her,_ really_ looks at her, not as an odd girl with miles of hair but as a girl with green eyes and rosy skin and white teeth and pink lips. Yeah, she's pretty...

Really pretty.

And suddenly all he can think about is how attractive she is.

"Do you want some breakfast?" she asks, her cheeks flushing as if she can read his thoughts.

He shakes himself out of his inappropriate thoughts. "Breakfast?" She's offering him food now too?

"Sit down," she instructs, pointing at the same armed chair he sat in yesterday.

He does as he's told as she happily darts across the room to her little kitchen area. Her hair follows after her, trailing from one side of the room to the other. But she doesn't see to notice. He watches as she grabs a few fruits from a colorful looking basket and begins to cut them into slices with a knife.

"So," he says, rubbing his chin, "maybe we should make some ground rules."

She pauses, looking up with a furrowed brow. "Ground rules? Why?"

"I'd prefer not to end up in prison."

Surprisingly, she laughs. Is the thought of him in a jail cell funny? Once again he considers that this is all an elaborate scheme to get him caught.

"The guards sleep late," she tells him factually. "As long as we're quiet, I don't think you'll be in any trouble."

"Uhuh." He's having a hard time trusting that logic, but what choice does he have?

She skips over and sets a plate of food on the table in front of him. There are apples and oranges cut into halves and arranged neatly beside a slice of fluffy bread and squares of cheese. After weeks of eating berries straight from the bushes, the spread is mouthwatering.

She looks thrilled as he grabs some of the fruit and chews on it noisily. "You like it?" she asks.

He hums in agreement through a full mouth. What's not to like?

"Good," she sighs. "I would have made you an omelet or maybe waffles, but that would have taken too long." She bites her lip in thought. "Maybe tomorrow... if I start on the batter early."

Flynn devourers the apple and reaches for some cheese. In the back of his head he knows this is too good to be true. He sneaks into the palace daily, gets served breakfast by a pretty girl, and leaves with a gemstone? Maybe she's poisoned the food... He chokes on a piece of cheese before swallowing noisily.

"Are you okay?" she asks, her eyebrows knit together with concern.

He clears his thought. "Fine."

Blondie sits on the stool at the opposite side of the table and leans her head on her popped up hand. "So, about these ground rules you mentioned..."

He raises an eyebrow.

She glances down at his feet, causing some of her blond hair to fall over her shoulder. The light hits her just right and for a moment it looks like she's surrounded by a glowing halo. He gulps down the lump forming in his throat. He's in way too deep... Now that he's noticed how attractive she is, it's impossible_ not_ to notice.

But she's still talking. He shakes himself out of his haze as she continues, "There are probably some rules I should go over too."

Oh no. Here's the catch. Here's what will make this too-good-to-be-true-fantasy a reality. What ever she's going to ask for is going to be too much.

"You should probably take off your boots before you come inside."

"What?" That was hardly what he expected. But more importantly, what is _wrong_ with his boots?

"They're dirty," she explains, crinkling her nose with distaste.

Ahah. She's a neat freak. He adds that to the list of the very few things he knows about her.

"Dirt makes a man look masculine," he jokes arrogantly.

She's unamused. "It gets stuck in the floorboards," she mutters, as if that makes any sense. "Anyway, you'll have to leave before 7:23."

That's oddly specific. "Why 7:23?"

"That's when the first guard walks past the door."

She knows the guards' patterns down to the minute? He nearly laughs out loud. She'd make a great partner for a thief set on robbing the palace...

But he feels guilty immediately for thinking that. She's just so clueless and innocent. Nervously, he runs a hand through his hair, and then winces as he grazes over the tender bump on the back of his head.

Blondie frowns and blushes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

Of _course_ she didn't. Flynn gives her a withering, sarcastic expression.

"Alright, that's not true," she amends quickly. "But I wasn't thinking. And I really regret it."

How comforting. He rubs at his head and grumbles a curse under his breath.

He feels rather than sees Blondie walk up behind him. "Let me see," she murmurs.

"It's fine," he retorts, covering his head with his hands. He doesn't want her making things any worse.

"Don't be such a baby," she quips, reaching out to smooth away his hair anyway.

Him, a baby? She nearly killed him! He holds his hands tighter over his head, despite her efforts to pry them away.

In some small place in the back of his mind he notices how soft her fingers are, and how strange they feel wrapped around his calloused ones. But he pushes that thought aside, because she's still trying to force his hands out of his hair.

"Flynn!" she huffs exasperatedly. "I just want to see if it needs any ointments."

He grimaces and turns in his seat, coming face to face with her. "I said I'm fine! Why are you so caught up on this?"

"Because I don't want you to be in pain!" she hisses, her hands on her hips and her eyes narrowed at him. "Because I _care_. Isn't that enough?"

She's doing that thing again... that thing she does when she suddenly looks too attractive and all he can do is stare at her. She's pursed her lips with displeasure, reminding him of an angry kitten. Her green eyes are wide and blazing. He realizes, begrudgingly, that she could probably make him agree to anything right now...

"Fine," he mutters, looking down at the floor. "Just make it quick."

Blondie makes quick work of removing his reluctant hands from his hair. Then she combs through his thick locks with her fingers. It feels nicer than it should. Her touch is gentle and soothing, and quickly he finds himself leaning into her palm like a dog.

"Ouch," she murmurs. "This looks like it hurts. Flynn, I'm so sorry."

He puffs out his chest and squares his shoulders. "No big deal," he boasts. "I can hardly feel it."

Then her finger grazes lightly over the bump. "Ouch, ouch, ouch!" he hisses, trying to swat her hand away. She takes a quick step back but her hair swings forwards, getting caught in his flailing hands.

"Eep!" she yelps, stumbling as Flynn accidentally pulls her hair. She tumbles onto his lap, her blond locks messily covering her face.

Flynn gasps in surprise as she pushes her hair away from her cheeks. Her green eyes are suddenly too close. She looks at him and blushes embarrassedly, her face turning a pretty shade of pink.

She's entirely too attractive. His mind feels fogged over as he stares, but it's not an unpleasant feeling.

Her eyes widen and the embarrassed curve of her lips fades. She looks slightly curious and very baffled, but mostly unable to look away from him.

Suddenly their noses are touching, and he's pretty sure he was the one to move closer to her, but he doesn't remember doing so. Her breath is fanning across his face and it's so oddly wonderful.

He shouldn't do this. It will complicate things impossibly more than they already are. And she's just so innocent; she probably has no idea what's happening. He's a rotten thief and she's beautiful, and he _can't_ let this happen...

But it's already happening. And maybe he's imagining it but he can swear he sees yearning in her eyes. It's buried deep behind her more prominent emotions, but it's there.

It's the last straw. In a matter of seconds she'd blown past all of his walls and defenses, and he can't help himself from moving that last inch and placing his lips over hers.

The moment is ruined in an instant. She squeaks and flies backwards, slamming her back against the table. The plate of bread and cheese falls onto the floor and shatters loudly. It's all happened so quickly that it takes him a moment to shake himself out of his shock. By the time he's able to think rationally again, she's already across the room and combing her fingers through her hair, untangling the knots in it.

He knows something special just happened, but he doesn't understand why. What they just did hardly qualified as a kiss, but it's made his heart pound in his chest like a drum. It was the oddest and most wonderful thing he's ever experienced. And as much as he feels like a pig for thinking so, he wants to try it again.

"Hey," he says quietly, glancing at the nervous girl standing as far from him as the room will allow.

He watches as she wipes the back of her hand across her cheek. Damn. She's crying.

He grimaces, feeling distressed. What kind of a monster is he? He forced himself on her, and she didn't have a chance to stop him. "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head and gives him a meaningful look that he doesn't understand. "Don't be," she whispers.

He has no idea what she means. Reluctantly, he asks, "Should I leave?"

She nods yes quickly and glances toward the window.

Well, he's ruined everything. He had a thief''s dream handed to him on a platter and he's _ruined_ it by letting his damn hormones get involved. He's made a pretty girl cry, and he'll probably feel guilty about it for the rest of his life.

He goes to the window and hops onto the ledge, looking down at the roof below him. He'll be out of here in a few minutes, and then he can hide out in the forest and mope. He'll find new places to go, new things to steal, new people to scam... He'll pretend this entire situation never happened.

He looks over his shoulder at Blondie, who's still wiping her eyes and biting her lip. She's flushed and frazzled and beautiful and he knows he won't be able to forget her no matter how much he tries.

"Bye," he whispers. He's not sure if she hears him or not.

He jumps down from the ledge and lands on the roof quietly. The sun is brighter now and the air is warm. He'll have to get out of here quickly, before people start to wake.

"Wait!"

He turns in surprise as Blondie rushes to the window and leans over the ledge. She seems taller than him, his head only as high as her waist. Looking up, he sees her green eyes still teary and baffled. Her face is paler than usual and she seems panicked about something.

Before he realizes what's happening, she's bending over the windowsill and pressing her cheek against his, her soft lips caressing his firmly. He reaches out instinctually and cradles her jaw. It only lasts a few seconds, but its enough to set his entire body aflame. Then she pulls away, but not before tucking something into his palm.

He has no idea what's just happened. He looks up at her and blinks in bewilderment. Her eyes are still filled with tears, but she manages to smile. "Please come back tomorrow," she tells him softly. And then the window slams shut and the curtains are pulled down.

He feels frozen as he gapes at the now closed window. His lips are tingling and it's as if he can still feel the impression of her cheek on his. He raises a hand to touch his face, but then he remembers that he's holding something.

He looks down curiously and frowns. It's a pearl necklace.

*~o~*~o~*

So, were you expecting that?

Is there any way this can end well?

Concept art that inspired this chapter on my profile, as always.

And let me know, would you prefer longer chapters and a longer wait, or shorter chapters more frequently?

Leave a review! Thank you for reading!


	7. The Ache

As ever, I love all of you. Your reviews are so sweet. I'm going to try and answer every one this time, because you guys definitely deserve it. You rock!

As for the size of my chapters, I have settled somewhere in the middle this time. Kinda short, but not too short. I'll have to see how it pans out. You guys had some very mixed feelings, but I think I'd rather cut the chapter off where it feels natural than drag it on. So we'll have to see. Some chapters will be longer than others. But I will always update as fast as I can.

I hope you enjoy :)

*~o~*~o~*

Chapter 7

*~_Monday_~*

She's cleaning her floor again for the second time in so many days. She never realized how filthy the outside world was until Flynn Rider came crashing through her window, bringing with him all the dust and muck and dirt that clung to his clothing.

It's disgusting and it's unsanitary and it has to go before Mother sees and realizes everything. But it just won't budge! She scrubs and scrubs at a speck of dirt on the wooden floor until her hands feel raw and the polish is actually wearing away. Finally, she realizes that she's been obsessing over part of the natural pattern of the wood.

She throws her washcloth onto the floor and buries her face in her hands. It's been nearly an hour since Flynn Rider left, and her heart has yet to climb down from her throat. She feels like she wants to scream or cry, but making any loud sound will attract the guards and she's yet to finish cleaning.

She touches her mouth with the tips of her fingers. Her lips are still tingly and warm and it's horribly distracting.

She can't let herself think about... _that._ If she thinks about _that _she'll never finish cleaning and Mother will walk in and see the pink shells sitting on her nightstand and the broken plate on the floor and she'll know what happened and she'll be furious!

But as she bends over the shattered plate she can't help but be reminded of why it fell off the table in the first place. She'd panicked and jumped away from him.

Her eyes dart to the armed chair. It looks the same as usual but also different because now every time she sees it she thinks of Flynn sprawled out on it. Or worse, she thinks of Flynn sprawled out on it and her sprawled out on Flynn.

And then she starts to remember the look on his face as he leaned forward, that glazed look in his eyes like he hardly knew what he was doing but also knew _exactly_ what he was doing at the same time.

At least one of them knew what was happening, because Rapunzel had no idea. She'd seen that look in his eyes and all her thoughts seemed to leave her head. She was left to stare at him curiously, feeling a bit like she was having an out of body experience, as he leaned in closer and closer until she could feel his breath washing over her face.

And then their noses were touching, and she'd liked the way it felt. She had no idea why, but it was almost comforting. Like a soft sweater in winter or a warm bowl of hazelnut soup. But it was also nerve wracking and confusing and it made her stomach twist with nerves.

And then their lips were against each other. And she didn't know what to do except yelp in alarm and throw herself across the room and cry. It was just so unexpected and overwhelming that she couldn't help overreacting. She'd never touched anyone like that before. It hadn't felt exactly good, but it hadn't felt bad either. She had the strange feeling that it had the potential to be more. There had been_something _there... though she had no idea what.

She shakes herself out of her thoughts and throws the plate shards into the trash. Then she clears away the left over cheese and fruit because Mother might realize that she had prepared enough for two.

She saves the shells for last because she knows they'll be the hardest to hide. If Mother sees them... they'll be absolutely no excuse. These shells are undeniably from the outside world, and they stick out like a sore thumb. She sweeps them into her arms, unsure of what to do.

Eventually she decides to hide them in the closet. Mother hardly ever goes in there, but just in case Rapunzel makes sure to bury them under a folded blanket.

She goes over to her bed and sits down, looking over the room one last time and checking for anything she missed. When she finally convinces herself that she hasn't left any evidence exposed, she sinks back into her pillows and lets out a long exhale.

She's never felt more alone. There are no footsteps outside, no knocks on her door... there aren't even any bird songs floating in through the window. And worst of all, she can still feel Flynn's lips on hers. It's odd that she can miss him so much after so little time knowing him...

But now he's gone. All she can do is lie on her bed and stare at the ceiling and pray silently that he'll come back tomorrow. She's not so sure that he will...

*~o~*~o~

Flynn isn't being as cautious as he should be. He's wandering through town as if there aren't a hundred wanted posters with his face on them tacked onto the stone walls, as if there aren't dozens of guards patrolling the street. But no one has looked at him twice so far. He takes that as a good sign.

He feels like he's in a daze. It's been hours since he left Blondie' tower and he's yet to stop thinking about her. Since when did Flynn Rider get so caught up on a kiss? No, not even a kiss, a little peck on the lips... a peck that shouldn't have made him feel lightheaded and warm but for some reason did anyway.

He isn't a neophyte to kissing. In fact, he likes to believe he's closer to an expert. And that kiss shouldn't have been anything compared to some of his other trysts. But he'd never felt the need to cradle a girl closer or run his fingers through her hair or wrap his arms around her back.

Since when did he become such a pansy?

He sticks a hand in his pocket and pulls out the pearl necklace. He has a good eye for value and this is worth a pretty decent amount. But why does he feel so guilty about cashing it in? He's kissed girls before and then taken their jewelry. This particular brand of wrongdoing shouldn't be that new to him.

Maybe it's because she just handed it over. Flynn's never had anyone just give him anything. Thievery may be illegal, but he's always had to work for it. It's a job like any other. So maybe he's guilty because this is a bit like cheating.

No, not cheating. He feels like he's _stealing_ from her.

The irony is not lost on him.

He can't understand why his conscience has chosen this moment to rear its ugly head. This is probably the most moral thieving he's ever done! It's not really stealing at all if she's giving it to him willingly... right?

Maybe the problem is that he made her cry. Yeah, he still feels pretty shitty about that. He's a bandit, not a soulless monster. However, it didn't seem like she was holding that much of a grudge when she leaned out her window and begged him to come back.

He just hopes she'll still feel the same way tomorrow. He hopes she won't realize what a bad guy he is and lock her window shut for good.

In the mean time, he's in deep trouble. Today is the day he's supposed to meet up with the Stabbingtons. Yay. He's supposed to split the fortune three ways, except all he has is the ring and the necklace. That's not even three items.

He has a feeling that the Stabbingtons weren't exaggerating about selling his skin and bones.

*~o~*~o~*

He's in her room again. He's climbed through the window and peeled off his boots, setting them down on the window ledge, just as she told him to. Barefoot, he hops onto the floor and straightens himself up. He's tall and tanned and his arms are muscular beneath his rolled up tunic.

He doesn't say a word. He just smiles his arrogant smile and opens his arms wide.

She rushes across the room and lets him pull her against his chest. He's warm and smells like outside, like grass and fresh dirt. She barely gives herself a chance to breathe before her lips are pressed against his and they are caught in a deep embrace.

His hand touches her jaw again, a gesture so tender that it makes her fist the fabric of his vest tighter and press herself impossibly closer. He's so much stronger than her; she feels so fragile in his arms. But she knows he won't hurt her, he'd never hurt her... And she wants to kiss him forever. Forever and ever and ever and...

"Rapunzel?"

Rapunzel's eyes burst open. Dozens of paper stars are dangling above her head from strings. She's in her bed...

She was dreaming.

"Rapunzel, dear, what are earth are you doing sleeping so late?"

"Mother!" Rapunzel sits up too quickly, blood rushing from her face and making her dizzy. "What are you doing here?"

She realizes her mistake immediately. Mother turns sharply on her heel, tilting her head curiously to one side and smiling tightly. "What ever do you mean, darling?"

"Uh." Rapunzel pushes her hair away from her face and frowns. "Nothing. Sorry, nothing. I'm just a little disoriented." Mother raises a thin, dark eyebrow. "I was having the strangest dream."

"Dream?" The word curls on Mother's tongue like a cuss. "Whatever about? You look flushed."

She lifts a hand to her cheek, embarrassed. "It was just a silly dream. I don't even remember most of it now."

"Hmm." Mother shrugs her shoulders and saunters over to the armed chair. "Don't think to much into it, darling. Dreams are poison to the mind."

She lowers her eyes. "Yes, mother, I know."

Mother sighs, exasperated. "Won't you sing for me, flower?"

Of course she will. She always does.

*~o~*~o~*

Flynn circles the big tree for what feels like ages. The poor thing's bark is marred from thousands of nails tearing into it. There are dozens of wanted posters currently tacked onto its face; so far he's counted fifteen Flynn's staring back at him with trademark smirks.

There are five posters of the Stabbingtons. The very same brothers who are haven't showed up for their meeting. They're half an hour late, and it's grating on his nerves.

They're lucky he even showed up to this meeting! He could have ditched—he _would_ have ditched—if it weren't for the fact that he knew he had no chance of outrunning the twins before they caught up with him. And now he's here, pacing through the forest like an idiot. Waiting.

When they finally appear from behind a fallen oak, their silhouettes forming in the mist like ghosts, he's so tense that his legs are shaking. Quickly, he straightens himself up and clenches his hands into fists, trying to regain some semblance of the dashing vagabond that he's supposed to be.

"Glad you could finally make it," he mutters sarcastically.

Two-Eyes thins his lips. "Had to throw a few guards off our trail."

Flynn leans his back against a tree trunk and crosses his arms casually. "Trouble with the authorities again? Gotta work on the stealth, guys."

The Stabbingtons are not amused.

"Where's the loot?" Two-Eyes asks. The one with the eye patch peers around for a bag.

"About that..."

At once, Flynn finds himself pinned against the tree by the collar of his shirt. Two-Eyes glares at him, the vain on his forehead throbbing. "You got something you wanna tell us, Rider?"

"I'd tell you if I could breathe," he wheezes, trying his best to retain whatever dignity he still has.

Stabbington drops him back onto his feet but doesn't back away. Eye-Patch hovers nearby, ready to interfere if necessary. "Start talking, Rider."

Flynn doesn't have much of a choice. He's always known these guys were rough and didn't have even a remote sense of humor. He knew he was getting in deep when he paired up with them. He _didn't_ think he'd have a problem splitting the cash. He didn't think he'd meet Blondie.

"Look," he starts, glancing from one brother to the other. "There was a little mishap with the plan. Someone was up there and I had to bolt."

Movement catches his attention out of the corner of his eye. Eye-Patch is reaching into his pocket for something.

"A mishap, huh?" Two-Eyes exclaims sardonically. "Well, that's unfortunate. What a damned shame."

The two brothers catch each other's eyes and smirk.

Flynn swallows heavily. "But I've got another way—!"

Suddenly Eye-Patch is holding a knife against Flynn's neck. Two-Eyes smiles and leans in close, his smelly breath fanning over his face. "You've got ten seconds."

For emphasis, the knife pushes slightly closer against his skin.

"And you better make this good, Rider."

*~o~*~o~*

Oh Flynn... And Rapunzel! These two are both in such trouble.

Let me know what you think. Comment :) I'll be answering every review this chapter!

As ever, inspiring concept art on my profile.

Thank you for reading!


	8. The Spark

The good news is my Mac's back from the apple store and back in business!

Thank you for all of your lovely reviews last chapter!

The chapter was a doozy to write for some reason. I hope you'll enjoy it. As ever, let me know what you think.

*~o~*~o~*

Chapter 8

*~_Monday_~*

Rapunzel finishes the last note of the healing song, her voice seeming to echo in her ears. She keeps her eyes closed, feeling the warmth of the magic flowing through her. Mother sighs as she brushes through the blond locks behind her.

"Are you feeling better now, Mother?" Rapunzel asks, opening her eyes. She sees the last bit of glistening golden hair fade back to it's usual blond.

Mother stands up from the armed chair behind her. "Much better, flower. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Rapunzel flushes under Mother's praise. Compliments are rare, and when she receives one she likes to absorb the feeling fully. A grin spreads across her face and her cheeks turn pink with pleasure.

Mother tucks her dark hair behind her ear. "Well," she exclaims, her voice shrill, "I'm exhausted. And with those circles under your eyes, it seems you could use some rest yourself, flower."

Rapunzel's hands move to her eyes. "I do?"

"Why don't you sleep, flower?" Mother suggests, setting down the hair brush on the table and preparing to leave.

"Wait." Rapunzel turns on her stool. "Mother, I wanted to ask..."

"It's getting late, darling. Look at you, you're exhausted."

"But Mother." Mother is already at the door, her hand hovering over the knob.

She sighs, agitated. "What is it, Rapunzel?"

Rapunzel lower her eyes, losing her nerve. "I was just wondering," her voice becomes lower and lower in volume until she's mumbling, "if possibly, uh, since my birthday is in two weeks... if we could..."

Mother narrows her eyes. "Rapunzel, you know how I hate mumbling."

"Sorry." She lifts her head and pulls a lock of hair between her fingers nervously. "It's just, in two weeks I'll be eighteen."

"And?"

"I was wondering if we could see the lights this year."

Mother's grey eyes suddenly seem much darker. Her lips go taut, thinning into a small line. "The lights, Rapunzel?"

Rapunzel opens her mouth to speak, but Mother interrupts. "What is _wrong_ with the view from your window?"

"Nothing," she whispers, standing from the stool. "I just thought it would... fun."

"Fun." Mother laughs bitterly. "Rapunzel, every year you ask me this question."

She lowers her eyes again. "I know, Mother."

"And every year, I give you the same answer."

"I... I know."

Mother walks up to her and places a chilly hand on her chin, lifting her face up. "Rapunzel, we're not going outside. It's a mean and horrible place."

But Mother doesn't know about Flynn Rider. She doesn't know that Rapunzel has her own guide to the outside world, bringing pink seashells and dirt and grass from the bottom of his boots into her tiny room. Whether she ever goes outside or not, she's had a taste of the world and she wants more.

"I don't want you asking this question again, do you understand?"

Rapunzel searches Mother's grey eyes. They're cold and unyielding. "Yes, Mother."

*~o~*~o~*

*~_Tuesday_~*

Rapunzel paces in front of her window, her fingers clenched nervously at her sides. She glances over the ledge for the hundredth time. The sun is low in the sky, but the day is already brightening, which means he's late. Both times he came, he came almost exactly at sunrise. It's been nearly fifteen minutes and she hasn't seen any sign of him.

She should have known not to let herself trust him. He took what he wanted and now he'll never come back. He'll forget about her, because she's nothing worth remembering, and he'll travel the world and be rich and happy.

And even if he doesn't ever think of her again, she's certain she'll think of him every day for the rest of her life. She'll think of that strange gleam in his eyes when he leaned in close. She'll think of how gently he pressed the pads of his fingers against her jaw. She'll go on for the rest of her life knowing that such things are possible and never be able to experience them again.

He tricked her and then he kissed her and left her alone and confused. She should have known better than to give him a chance. Men from the outside are cruel and selfish. Mother had always told her so, and she had been right.

It'll be better off for everyone if she just forgets this ever happened. No more listening for footsteps that aren't there, no more wistful glances out the window, no more hoping for what won't happen... She'll move on, Mother will never find out, and she'll force herself to pretend Flynn Rider never existed.

She moves to the kitchen and searches for the ingredients for pancakes, hope that the routine of cooking will distract her nerves. Pots and bowls clang together noisily as she pushes through a cabinet in search of a frying pan. Then, grabbing a bowl and spoon, she gets to work.

But, she eventually realizes, the problem is that she's cooked this meal a thousand times before. She hardly has to think about what she's doing, which means she can't help but think and worry and fret about _him_.

No. She won't waste another thought on him. She mixes the batter and holds the bowl over her frying pan, making sizzling circles of dough. When they start to bubble she flips them over with her spatula.

When she has nothing left to do, she finds some strawberries and begins cutting them into thin slices. It's unnecessary and tedious, but at least it's keeping her mind away from...

No! No more thoughts of him. He's crass and rude and selfish and evil and ugly and horrible and—

_Thud!_

"Ah!" A few strawberries slip onto the floor as her hands fly to her throat. She darts in a quick circle towards her window, where the crash has come from.

Her heart falters for a moment. Flynn Rider is hopping over the ledge.

"Flynn!" Her breath is caught in her throat again, like it usually is when he's nearby. He's here, he's really here, and he hasn't left her forever!

He stumbles into the room with less grace than usual, tripping over his foot and grabbing onto the windowsill to avoid falling flat on his face. His eyes scrunch up with tension and he breathes out a strained exhale as he finds his equilibrium. Then he straightens himself and peers up at her.

Rapunzel tilts her head to the side. He looks different than he had the day before. There's a streak of dirt across his temple and a new tear in his vest. But it's more than that... his face is paler and his eyes are darting around the room with a fretfulness that wasn't there before. He's sweating and his pants are damp from the knees down, like he's been walking through water. Two mucky puddles are forming beneath his dripping boots.

She tries to keep her expression from twisting with disgust. "Your boots."

He looks down at his shoes. "Oh. Right..." he mutters, pulling off the boots and setting them on the ledge under the sun so they can dry.

Rapunzel stares at the two leather shoes sitting on the sill. Strangely, she is reminded of her dream the previous day. Her face turns magenta and she has to turn her gaze to the floor, her hair falling over her face to hide it from him.

"Is that okay?" he asks, noticing her strange reaction. "You did say that was part of the rules, right? Taking my shoes off?"

"Yes," she agrees, pulling herself together and looking up again. "Thank you."

His eyebrows fold together suspiciously. "No problem."

She entwines her fingers and looks at the floor. Can he read her thoughts on her face? If he ever finds out about her dream, he'll be disgusted with her. He'll laugh at her. _Dreams are poison to the mind._

"Hey," he says, his eyes widening as he remembers something. "I brought you a little something."

Her face brightens. "More shells?"

"Not quite," he mutters, digging around inside his leather satchel. "Even better than shells, in my opinion. And I have very good opinions."

_Very good opinions. _She mentally files that away to add to the list of things she knows about him.

"Ahah!" he exclaims, pulling out something boxy and blue. He holds it out for her.

She recognizes what it is immediately. Excitedly, she scoops up the book and opens to the little page. "_The Encyclopedia of Sedimentary Geology and Marine Ecology,_" she reads aloud. She looks up at him, her nose scrunched with confusion. She doesn't recognize half those words.

He pantomimes flipping the page with his hands.

She grabs a chunk of pages and flips to somewhere in the middle of the book. She bites her lip, confused. There are hardly any words. Just sketches of odd looking things with captions underneath.

She turns another page, and is greeted with something more familiar. It's a drawing of a shell similar to the one Flynn gave her. She reads the caption below it. _Clam shells consist of a wide variety of bi-valve shells in many shapes and sizes. Some are edible and some produce pearls. Most live in shallow waters and the species can be found in either fresh or salt water._

She flips another page. This time it's a picture of a river. A large bird is standing on one foot and pointing it's beak toward the water, preparing to capture a fish.

_Flip. _A little creature, a crab, is coming out of a shell that it had made its home.

_Flip. _It's the seashore, a sandy strip of land that looks out over the ocean. The water is cold and the wind is salty and she can almost imagine the foamy crests of the waves as they touch her feet.

The picture of the beach is shaking, and then she realizes it's because her hands are trembling. This is all too much... She thinks of Mother, of all the times she told her that knowing less was more. She'd never quite understood what that meant. But now she thinks she gets it. Knowing that all of this life is just beyond her window hurts her like nothing she's ever felt before.

But it's also incredible. It's addicting and she wants more. She wants to devour every page of this book, read every small word, study every sketch until she's memorized it from cover to cover.

"Well?" Flynn asks.

The book falls from her hands and drops onto the floor. In an instant, she throws her arms around his neck and presses her forehead against his shoulder. "Thank you!" she whispers breathlessly. "Thank you, thank you."

Only seconds later, she realizes what she's doing. She peels herself away and takes a quick step back like he's burnt her. "Sorry."

He's looking at her with an odd expression. The gleam in his eyes reminds her of the way he looked yesterday before he kissed her. It makes her cheeks flush scarlet.

He shakes his head to himself, running a hand through his dark hair. "Thought you'd like it, since you liked the shells and all..." He seems suddenly uncertain.

"I do like it," she assures him. "It's the nicest thing anyone's ever given me."

"Then your birthday presents must be shit."

"_Shit_?" She says the word curiously, testing the syllables on her tongue.

He looks at her oddly, his forehead creased together like he's trying to solve a puzzle. "You don't get out often, do you Blondie?"

She shrugs. "Not really." But she'd rather not talk about that. Grappling for something else to say, she gestures behind her, towards the kitchen. "Are you hungry?"

*~o~*~o~*

Apparently he is, because he digs into the pancakes like he hasn't eaten in years. She finds his ravenous appetite fascinating and a little gross but mostly very flattering because Mother never eats anything she cooks.

While he stuffs pancake after pancake into his mouth, she finds herself babbling mindlessly to him. "I usually only make pancakes on Mondays. But today is Tuesday. I don't really know why I decided to change my routine. Tuesdays are when I make omelets. Oh, I can make omelets tomorrow! But Wednesdays are when I'm supposed to bake muffins..."

She doesn't really know why she's saying this all out loud, but she feels like she has to fill the silence with _something_, or her eyes will wander to his lips and then she'll start thinking about things, particularly about yesterday.

She rests her elbows on the table and props up her chin on her entwined fingers. "I can make different kinds of pancakes too. Do you like cinnamon? I think I have some cinnamon."

"Cinnamon's great," he says through a mouthful. "_Damn_," he exclaims, grabbing another bite on his fork. "These are stupendous."

"Really?" Her heart lurches again. He thinks her cooking is stupendous.

He nods, moving on to the strawberry slices and gobbling them down.

She feels a large beam spread across her face. "I'm so glad you came. When you were late today I thought you'd just taken off, but you came back and I'm so sorry I didn't trust you."

Flynn suddenly chokes, coughing into his palm. He gulps down the lump of food heavily, looking like he's just swallowed something bitter.

"Are you okay?"

He brushes off her concern. "You trust me?"

"Yes," she says brightly.

"That's probably not the best idea."

"It's not?"

His amber eyes stare into hers. It's unnerving and uncomfortable, but she doesn't look away. "Look, Blondie..." He pauses.

His face is pale again, making the streak of dirt on his temple darker and more prominent against his features. She notices it and smirks.

Her sudden shift of expression sidetracks him. "What are you smiling at?"

"There's a big smear of dirt on your face," she giggles. With a finger she points to it, just to the side of his right eye.

At first he looks a little shocked. Then a bit annoyed. Then guilty. Finally, he seems to give up warring with himself and settles back into his chair.

He smirks at her, his eyes gleaming again.

She smiles back.

*~o~*~o~*

What in the world is going on in Flynn's head, you may be wondering? What happened with the Stabbingtons?

Is Flynn going to teach Rapunzel more curses?

Are they ever going to acknowledge that they kissed the other day?

Well... you'll just have to wait.

How did you like this chapter? The R/F interaction? Let me know. I love love love reading your responses.

Hugs and kisses. Comment please. Thank you for reading!


	9. The Trust

I apologize yet again for the wait. Lot's of studying to do for finals (but yay, I'm done with school for now... summer internship, here I come!). I thought I'd be able to finish this chapter a lot quicker, but I had a little writers block. It came together piece by piece. Anyway, it's longer than usual, it's mostly Flynn and Rapunzel, and there's a little surprise at the end, so I think you'll enjoy it.

Thank you to all of my lovely readers and reviewers.

*~0~*~0~*

Chapter 9

*~_Thursday_~*

Flynn looks at the broach cupped in his hands. The sapphire is a glistening dark blue and encrusted in gold. He feels wrong holding the glorious item; his palms are dirty and leaving smudges against the metal.

"It's probably worth a few thousand crowns. Six... Maybe seven," he estimates, narrowing his eyes at the jewel. It innocently twinkles back at him.

"Hrm."

Flynn would have thought the Stabbington twins would have had the decency to seem a little more impressed than that. This broach is, after all, quite a find... Not that he really found it or anything. But that's besides the point. He's no merchant, but he has an eye for rarity and value.

"Is that it?" asks Two-Eyes.

"Yeah," Flynn mutters flatly. "Hey, if you're not interested, I'll just take it somewhere else..."

Eye-patch clenches a meaty hand in warning, the muscles in his arms bulging. But Two-Eye's remains apathetic, his expression unamused. "Shut up, Rider," he grumbles. "It'll do... for now."

Flynn rolls his eyes.

Two-Eyes holds the sapphire in front of his face and glares at it viscously. "Where'd you say you were getting this stuff from?"

"I didn't."

Eye-patch makes a sound akin to a dog growling. The other brother frowns suspiciously.

"Costumer confidentiality," Flynn adds dryly. "I don't see how it matters, anyway. The gem is legitimate."

Two-Eyes thinks about this for a moment. Then he carelessly tosses the broach to his twin, who catches it and stuffs it in his pocket. Silently, they both turn to walk back into the shadows.

"Wait," Flynn calls after them. "You're still keeping up your end of the bargain, right?"

"Don't you worry, Rider," Two-Eyes calls over his shoulders. "We're keeping the guards plenty busy. We're men of our word, after all."

*~o~*~o~*

*~_Monday_~*

"Hold still."

Flynn's eyes dart to the omelet sitting on the table. It's been six days since Rapunzel started cooking him breakfast and he's become quite spoiled. Today it's a cheese omelet with spinach and tomato. It's probably getting cold by now, but he can still smell the mouth watering scent of melted cheese wafting through the air. For a thief who hasn't eaten since yesterday morning (waffles with bananas and fresh cream), this is the most extreme torture imaginable.

He groans and falls back against his seat. Blondie has titled the armed chair just so, because the light falls on his cheekbones better at this angle, whatever than means. She is currently sitting cross-legged on the floor with a sketchbook in her lap and her yellow hair trailing behind her like a snake. As she concentrates on her work, the tip of her tongue pokes out from between her teeth. For some reason he can't help but find it incredibly... cute. A lot of things Blondie does lately has him using adjectives he previously considered reserved for wusses.

The smell of the breakfast she's prepared for him fills his nose again, and he begins to creep his fingers towards the edge of the table.

He swears she doesn't even look at him, but somehow she says, "You're moving again."

"Blondie, I'm starving."

She sighs, looking longingly down at her sketch for a moment before giving up and stuffing her pencil behind her ear. "I guess I can do the rest from memory."

Finally. Flynn reaches for the fork and starts devouring his breakfast. Thankfully it's still warm. He moans appreciatively and reaches for the glass of milk.

"What do you think?" Blondie walks over and turns the sketchbook around for him to see.

It's pretty good, actually. He should have expected as much, considering the paintings all over the walls of her tower, but somehow her talent still catches him off guard. But one thing has him frowning... the nose is all wrong.

"What's going on over there?" he asks, pointing his fork at the nose of the drawing.

Rapunzel looks down at the paper, considering his criticism. Then she sits down on the edge of the table, way too close for comfort in his opinion. Her skirt swishes as she moves and brushes briefly against his arm. "It's hard to draw," she says, her eyes darting back and forth from his face to her sketch. "It's sort of big," Flynn scoffs at this, "but not too big," she amends gently, smiling. "And it's straight, but there's also a softness... a sort of... grace."

He's never heard his nose so accurately described to him before. He flashes her a devilish grin. "It _is_ pretty fantastic." For emphasis, he wags his eyebrows.

She giggles and smiles, her eyes alight and her cheeks flushed slightly pink. The depth of his attraction to her still startles him. Ever since he climbed into her tower he's been feeling a lot less like himself and a lot more like a pansy. Where is the tough, selfish, ruthless Flynn Rider he prides himself on being? It's like that piece of his personality vanishes at the sight of her smile. She's just too... _good_ to treat with the same disinterest and cynicism he does the rest of the human race.

He's considered not coming back to the tower a few times, because frankly, the way he acts around her makes him feel uncomfortable. But he has a bargain to keep with the Stabbingtons, and she cooks such delicious breakfasts, and he really has nothing better to do. This is probably the greatest heist he's ever done in all his years of thieving. It seems ridiculous to give that up because of his dumb emotions.

Blondie is still sketching, her pencil darting across the page with thick strokes. He watches with vague interest as he finishes the last of the omelet.

"You know," she says conversationally, still gazing intently at her sketch, "I've been reading that book you got me."

"Yeah?" He thinks back to the day he bought that old encyclopedia. It had been sitting on the window display at the little bookstore downtown. He'd debated over whether or not to get it for a solid hour. Then he had debated over whether or not to just snatch it off the shelf and be done with it. It was just a book―piece of cake. But giving Blondie stolen goods seemed a little too ironic for his taste, and quite frankly, he didn't have any more room for guilt.

Guilt... that was becoming a strange problem as of lately.

Eventually he convinced himself to dig a coin out of the bottom of his satchel and pay for the stupid thing. It was probably the first item he'd legitimately paid for in years. Never mind the fact that he'd swiped the coin off a vendor a few weeks ago. It was the thought that counted.

Blondie drags the pencil across the page to shade something in. Without looking up, she says, "Did you know that Herons snare their aquatic prey by standing still for long periods of time and waiting for fish to come within range of their long necks and blade-like bills?" She'd obviously memorized that tidbit straight from the book.

"No." And he has no idea why anyone would find that interesting.

"Oh," she says, grinning. She looks strangely ecstatic at the thought of knowing something he does not. "Well I've never seen a heron before."

"Really?" He feels his brow disappear into his hairline. "They're pretty common around here."

She immediately shrinks back, biting her lip. Her nose scrunches with mild embarrassment. "I guess I've just never come across one."

She says this with such insincerity that he realizes immediately that she is lying. But why? What is there to lie about? There are too many questions he has about her that he's never gotten the answer to. "Blondie," he says, trying to sound as casual as possible. He leans back in the chair and crosses his arms. "Why are you staying up here in the castle anyway?"

Her face goes pale. Her lip quivers.

What has he said wrong? She looks as if she's about to burst into tears. But as quickly as the emotion floods across her features, it is replaced by a much more stoic expression. She looks at him intensely, so intensely that he feels himself shiver. Her eyes are wide and green and soul piercing. Then she sighs inaudibly and shakes her head.

"It's complicated."

Flynn's used to complicated. That seems to be one of the defining words of his life. And meeting Blondie was perhaps the most complicated thing to ever happen to him. "Trust me, Blondie, I get complicated."

"I don't really want to talk about this," she rushes, suddenly lifting herself off the table. Her skirt brushes his arm again, making his breath catch. She grabs her sketchbook and sits on the floor once more, pulling her pencil out from behind her ear. "Can you lean your hand back against the chair like you were before?"

Her hand begins to move across the page again, but this time it is less graceful. Her fingers are sloppy and her lines are wobbly. Some of her blond hair falls in front of her face, and she quickly pushes it away. But then it comes loose from behind her ear and falls over her eyes again.

"Ugh!" She grabs a handful of hair and throws it over her shoulder. Then she starts combing her fingers through the tendrils speedily, a habit he's quickly come to realize is a reaction to stress.

"Hey... Blondie," he says, standing up from the chair.

She ignores him, pulling at her yellow mane anxiously. "Stupid _hair_," she mutters to herself.

"Blondie," he says again. He walks across the room and stands before her. "Hey, relax."

She lets go over her hair and looks up hesitantly into his eyes. He's standing close, so very close. Her large, clear eyes are wide and staring up at him anxiously. He notices for the first time that her irises are speckled with little gold flecks.

"Sorry," she murmers, slightly embarassed.

He is struck again with that pang in his chest, that surge of unfamiliar feelings that he can't identify. It must be because she said she trusted him. He's not sure anyone has ever trusted him before, not that he blames them. And knowing that Blondie has such faith in him is a bit disturbing because he certainly doesn't deserve it.

"You okay?" he asks. His voice has dropped in volume, almost to a whisper.

Her eyes glimpse at his face and then dart to the floor. She rocks back on her feet, putting a few inches of space between them. "Fine..." She grabs a strand of hair again and runs her fingers through it. "It's just... it's _complicated_."

Everything seems to be complicated when it comes to Blondie. She's an enigma, a riddle he can't seem to piece together. And he's so used to feeling like he's one step ahead of the game. He's used to reading people and outsmarting them before they even know what hit them. Why is this one girl so difficult to understand?

"Alright," Flynn says slowly. "No more questions about living arrangements?"

She smiles sadly. "I'd appreciate that."

So Flynn isn't the only one keeping secrets anymore. That's a twist he wasn't expecting. And now he feels as if he's peeled away a layer of Rapunzel's mystery only to find a dozen more layers beneath it. He's making absolutely no progress.

"Do you want to finish the sketch?" Rapunzel offers, grappling for something to say.

He shrugs. "Yeah, sure."

He sits in the armed chair that's tilted just so and leans his arm languidly to the side like he was before. She finds her sketchbook and returns to drawing, her tongue peaking out from her teeth again as she concentrates. It seems as if everything is back to normal... except it's not. His brain is swimming with questions.

After a few minutes of silence, aside from the sound of Rapunzel's pencil, she says, "Finished."

She comes over to his chair and turns the book around for him to see. There he is, drawn in grey lead, draped casual over the chair with his arms stretched comfortably to the sides. He looks over the sketch's face, pleased to see that the nose is now perfect, almost uncannily so. He's no art expert, in fact he knows next to nothing about it, but she obviously has remarkable talent.

"Wow," he says quietly, a bit shocked. "It's... good."

His compliment is lacking most of the enthusiasm she deserves, but she doesn't seem to notice. "You think so?" She's basking in his praise.

He clears his throat. "Yeah. I mean, it's fantastic. Almost as good as the real thing." He smirks. "Almost."

He is rewarded with her bell-like laughter. "Well it would be impossible to capture such _perfection_," she jokes, a sly smile on her face. Did she learn that expression from him?

He shrugs his shoulders. "You did the best you could."

She giggles again, her face glowing with joy. She's so distractingly attractive. And he knows what her lips feel like, which makes the problem ten times worse. His self-control seems to be dwindling dangerously fast.

She said she trusts him. He wonders for a moment if she would still trust him if he touched her chin and closed the distance and pressed his lips against hers.

Her laughter dies away and she smiles at him with such happiness that it makes his heart speed. He did that, he made her smile. He makes her happy. That has to be a good sign.

He stands up and looks at the sketch again. She's drawn him with broad shoulders and a straight jaw... she must find him good looking, right? Most women do. He's never had to second guess himself so much when it came to a single girl. But Blondie is no ordinary girl.

"It was hard to draw your hair," she says, tracing a finger over the sketch's mane. "It kind of flops around whenever you move." She smiles fondly. "And you really can't stay still."

He moves his face a fraction of an inch closer. She looks up from the sketchbook and the smile slips from her face. But she doesn't step back or avert her eyes. His head moves lower again.

"Uh, Flynn," she whispers breathily, nervously. But she doesn't back away.

Another inch closer. He feels the sleeve of her arm brush against his.

He's going to do it. He's going to kiss her. He wants to, and he thinks maybe she wants to also. He drops his head just a bit lower. Just a few more centimeters...

"No," she mutters, jumping back. "No, no, no."

"What?" The suddenness of her withdrawal takes him by surprise.

"I can't," she tells him quickly, taking another step back. Her hands reach for her hair and begin combing through the strands again.

"Why not?"

Her whole face goes pale. "It's wrong."

"Wrong?" The word takes him by surprise. It should make perfect sense. He's a bandit and she's... _her_. It's all kinds of wrong.

But for some reason he can't help but feeling like it's also _right_.

Bewilderment crosses her features. "It's... it's just wrong."

She probably has a point, but he can't bring himself to accept it.

Everything she does is beautiful. Her movements, her grace, her bright smile... that sparkle in her eyes when she laugh at his jokes. He just wants to be near her.

Nothing's ever felt so right.

She's still running her fingers anxiously through her hair. He catches a hint of wetness in her eyes.

"Hey, Blondie," he says, as softly as he can muster.

He steps close to her once more, and is pleased to find that she doesn't shy away again. He lifts a hand and touches her chin, tilting it up so he can see her face.

She's teary eyed and frightened. But he won't be deterred. He uses the backs of his fingers to wipe at some of the water accumulating above her cheeks. He feels his face soften... touching her makes him feel calmer. Blondie's expression changes from fear to pure confusion.

"It's not wrong," he whispers, with as much confidence as he can muster.

She nods. Then she finally finds the courage to look into his eyes. And he sees it.

She trusts him.

_Clang_...

Something clatters in the hallway. Rapunzel flies away from him like she's been burnt. "It's 7:23!" she yelps.

He swears he can feel a gust of air as she zooms past him. She darts over to the table, grabbing the empty plate and glass he left there. Then she opens a random cabinet in the kitchen and throws them haphazardly inside to hide them.

She turns her head and stares at him in panic. "Go!" she orders, her voice an octave higher than usual.

She looks so serious that he finds himself immediately obeying. He moves to the window and quickly hops onto the ledge.

"Boots!" she hisses from behind him.

He turns around and see's her grabbing the sketchbook she'd left on the floor. She tears out his picture so quickly that part of the page tears. Then she rushes to the window and thrusts the paper into his arms.

He barely has time to get a good grip on it. With his boots in one hand and the portrait in the other, Rapunzel pushes him over the ledge. The shingles on the roof hurt his feet, but he barely notices.

Above him, the window slams shut and the curtain is pulled down.

He can't hear or see a thing that's happening inside. It's as if she doesn't even exist.

*~0~*~0~*

Let me know what you think. Love it, hate it, kinda in the middle?

Is Flynn coming around? Is he taking advantage of her? Is he just really sexy so he can get away with doing anything he wants?

Concept art on the profile, like always :)

Thank you for reading!


	10. The Hint

So…. I'm alive? After going through a very hard couple of months, I've finally felt up to writing again. I looked through my computer and found Chapter 10, only half written. And after reading some lovely reviews from some loyal readers who hadn't given up on this story, I decided to continue on.

It's not much, or very long, but I hope you'll like it.

Thank you to all of my readers. You are fantastic.

*~0~*~0~*

Chapter 10

*~_Monday_~*

The pub is as dark as he remembers it. The windows are musty with dust and the lone chandelier hanging from the ceiling is missing three of it's eight candles. Flynn takes a deep breath; he can smell the odor of cheap beer. Good. He's planning on being drunk before noon.

"Give me a glass of whatever you've got brewed," he mutters to the barkeeper, taking a seat on the same stool he did last time. He puts an elbow on the counter, but quickly removes it when he notices how sticky the wood is.

A mug is placed in front of him, and he takes it greedily. The liquid is luke-warm but he doesn't think twice on it. It's mind-numbing and that's exactly what he needs. He needs a break, a vacation. He needs an escape.

No, he needs to remind himself who he is. He's not a thief for shits and giggles. It's Flynn Rider against the world. He's a soulless, conscienceless monster. He needs to stop feeling... _emotions_... for this girl and worry about his own skin. If he let's his focus slip he's going to find himself a one way ticket to Corona's penitentiary.

The stool beside him is pulled out by a large brute with a greasy mustache. "No tea today?"

Oh goodie. An old friend. Flynn rolls his eyes with exasperation.

"Someone's in a bad mood."

"Fuck off."

The thug barks out a laugh that rattles Flynn's stool. "Hey, Vladdie," he calls over his shoulder to the barkeeper, "Vodka for this good sir!" He turns back to Flynn and wags his bushy eyebrows. "If you're gonna drink with the big boys, then you're gonna want something stronger."

"Hey, it's Teacup!" someone shouts, his voice echoing around the room loudly enough to attract the attention of pretty much everyone in the bar. "Teacup came back!"

Vladamir the barkeeper chooses this moment to slap down a glass of vodka in front of him. Flynn grabs the glass and tilts his head back, finishing it off in one gulp. When he sets the glass back on the table, he's pleased to find that he already feels a bit fuzzy.

"Leave 'im alone," the thug with the mustache bellows loudly. If the rest of the patrons weren't staring at him before, they certainty are now. "He's feeling sensitive and he doesn't want to deal with you _idiots!_" He smiles through his scraggly mustache proudly and leans in to whisper close to Flynn's face, "Don't worry, kid, I'm looking out for ya."

"Tor!" Vladamir hollers across the bar at the mustached thug. "You better give me the sixteen crowns you owe me!"

Tor waves a hand dissuasively. "Yeah, yeah!" Then he looks over at Flynn. "Hey, Teacup, you got sixteen crowns on you?"

If it wasn't for the buzz of the alcohol, he'd probably be more annoyed. But as it is, Tor and the other's antics are quickly becoming background noise as he gulps down his next glass of vodka. He's never been much of a drinker, but right now he feels like a fish as he waves Vladamir over for his third glass.

"Hey!" another goon shouts, coming over to sit on his other side. "Whatever happened with the girl? You know, the blond?"

And there goes his buzz. It seems Blondie has a way of finding him everywhere he goes. "Nothing," he grumbles, tipping his glass back again so he doesn't have to speak. The last thing he wants to do right now is think about her.

"Come on!" the thug complains, hitting his fist against the bar like he's about to have a tantrum.

Tor is quick to defend him. "He doesn't want to talk about it, Greno! Can't you see he's feeling emotional right now? Just because _you _have the emotional capacity of a stick..."

Flynn doesn't bother listening to the rest. He slumps in his seat and puts his hands over his face.

Somewhere to his right, Greno asks, "What's _his_ problem?"

"I dunno. Maybe something's wrong with him."

Something_ is _wrong with him. Blondie must have done more damage than he thought when she nailed him in the back of the head with that paint jug. He's acting weak, he's losing his focus. He's... not acting like Flynn Rider. Flynn Rider isn't frightened or cowardly and he certainly is never guilty.

Above him, the two thugs are still arguing. "Look what you did, Greno, you killed him!"

"How did I kill 'im? I didn't even touch 'im!"

"He took one look at your ugly face and collapsed to his death!"

Tor and Greno keep up their fighting match-the subject has thankfully turned from who killed him to who's face is uglier-while Flynn lifts his face from his hands and signals Vladimir to hand him another vodka.

Then he drains the glass and waves for another.

*~o~*~o~*

It's hard to find fresh space to paint, but Rapunzel is feeling inspired. She searches her walls for an empty spot and fails. Her room is large, but nearly eighteen years has given her more than enough time to cover every surface with doodles and portraits. Even her floor is growing crowded with paintings of flowers and grass. When she was younger she'd wiggle her toes over it and pretend it was real.

Her face darkens at the memory. She's been so naïve. She's been dreaming about the outside world all her life and has never once taken the initiative to make her fantasy come true. She was scared... she _is_ scared. But look at her now! She has Flynn and he's teaching her so much. He's her very own guide to life beyond the palace walls. Maybe one day she'll be brave like him and see the things he talks about for herself.

Her mother constantly showers her with presents and valuables, but she's never had any need for new bracelets or silky dresses. She doesn't want material things, she wants freedom. But that's the one thing she's never allowed to have.

It's for the best. She needs Mother, and Mother needs her. The outside world is a dangerous place, full of dangerous people and bugs and fires and illness. So much evil. It's better this way.

She goes to her closet and digs around until she finds the three pink shells she'd hidden. They still smell like water and salt. She runs a finger over the bumpy shell ridges. How could something so beautiful ever be evil?

And Flynn... he's not evil at all. Sometimes he's a bit strange, but never evil. Not once has he tried to hurt her.

But then she blushes, because while Flynn has never tried to hurt her, he has tried... _other_ things.

Like... kissing. She knows nothing about kissing. The only kisses she's ever received were from her mother, and those were on the cheek. But when Flynn tries to kiss her it is an entirely different matter. He looks at her so intensely that she feels as if her skin is bursting into flames. He makes her heart stutter and her throat become dry, and her body tenses with nerves because she doesn't_ understand_.

She hears Mother's voice in her head, whispering in her ear. It's evil, it's sinful, it's so, so wrong.

But Flynn says it's not wrong. And he knows better than she does on matters like these.

She shakes herself out of her thoughts. There's absolutely no room to paint. Her walls are covered from top to bottom. And she'd like to save the space left on the floors for something more important. So she looks at the only place left...

Up.

*~o~*~o~*

It isn't until Flynn is halfway through the village that he realizes something is missing. He opens his satchel and digs through it to make sure everything is in place. It is. Then he pats all of his pockets to see if something has fallen out. It hasn't.

But then he remembers. In Blondie's haste to hide him from the guards, she never gave him one of her valuable trinkets.

Shit.

His breathing starts to increase and he runs an anxious hand through his hair. But then he reminds himself that Flynn Rider _never_ panics. He'll get through this like he gets through everything else. He'll use his wit and his stunning good looks and his uncanny amount of luck.

He knows he's lying to himself. When Flynn Rider finds himself in a jam he _runs._ He's never stayed in the same town for more than a few days. He steals a few shiny items and skips town until it seems like the villagers have forgotten the look of his face. He sneaks away before the action starts. He doesn't own up to anything he's done because it's easier to just wait until the whole thing blows over.

And the thing Flynn Rider would do in this situation now is bolt. He won't sit around and wait for the Stabbingtons to catch up with him—that would be suicide. The twins are decent trackers, but he's faster. He'll cross the river and flee into one of the neighboring kingdoms for a few weeks. He knows a few seedy pubs with spare rooms, and a few landlords who owe him favors. Part of his is already calculating how long the trip will take on foot.

So Flynn Rider is going to run. He's going to go into hiding because two dumb thugs with beefy arms are trying to best him. He's never thought of himself as such a coward before. He's never felt guilty, or frightened, or weak, or cowardly... Not until he met a certain blond in a certain tower.

But thinking about her invites all sort of unwanted emotions into his brain, so he quickly pushes that thought aside. It'll be best if he just forgets about that strange girl. Whoever she was...

He goes back to his plans. He'll need about three days worth of food to be safe. He scans his eyes over the village street and spots the bakery just a few stores away. A tray of cakes and pastries are sitting out on a tray on the baker's cart. And the baker's back is turned as he hands a cookie to a little girl. It'll be only too easy...

He decides against it and reaches for a few coins from inside his satchel.

The baker smiles at him with chubby dimples, his tall white hat flopping over to one side. "What can I do for you, lad?"

"Just a few biscuits," he mutters.

The baker is in the middle of grabbing Flynn's order when something metallic crashes inside the shop. "Aghh!" the baker moans exasperatedly, turning his chubby body to shout through the doorway of the store. "Those better not have been the fruit cakes! They're supposed to be sent to the palace by tomorrow morning!"

"The palace?" The words pop out of Flynn's mouth involuntarily, his interest caught as soon as the word 'palace' left the baker's lips.

The baker looks pleased to brag. "We deliver goods to Her Majesty weekly. The Queen loves our scones. Buy a scone and see for yourself! The best in Corona!"

"The palace doesn't have it's own chefs?"

The baker doesn't pause at the question. He busies himself with scooping five biscuits into a paper bag. "I wouldn't know, would I? The palace keeps to itself."

Something prickles on the back of Flynn's neck. "Someone must know. Someone around here must work at the palace, right?"

"If there is, I don't know 'em," says the baker. He hands Flynn his goods. Then, as an afterthought, he adds, "The people in the palace… they stay in there."

_They stay in there_.

The baker's words… they remind him of something else. He remembers a question he asked, not so long ago, said half-jokingly. "_You don't get out often, do you Blondie?_"

Faintly, his mind recalls Rapunzel's response in her soft, lyrical voice. "_Not really_."

*~0~*~0~*

Thank you again to all of my readers who are so wonderful. I'm so honored that you enjoy my drabbles.

As ever, let me know what you think.

Artwork that inspired this chapter is on my profile.

See you soon!


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